


it's all ceremonial

by Jenstar



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Gen, No A/C, Summer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:40:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26312785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenstar/pseuds/Jenstar
Summary: Sylvain, Felix, Dimitri, and Ingrid deal with a power outage in the middle of summer with petty arguments about grilled cheese, Clue, and Felix's blade collection. Maybe they finally leave some things behind in the process.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & Felix Hugo Fraldarius & Ingrid Brandl Galatea & Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 18
Kudos: 79





	it's all ceremonial

Carpet, Sylvain slowly realizes, is the worst textile floor covering ever conceived. He lifts his foot to pluck the offending beige fuzzies from the bottom and grimaces when they stick to the tips of his fingers. Every inch and crevice of his skin is slick with sweat. It takes him four tries to successfully flick them away towards nowhere, and he feels a little pathetic as he smiles at the victory; he’ll take whichever ones he can score today, he supposes. 

He drifts past the threshold of his bedroom and into the living room where he finds Ingrid and Dimitri sprawled on the leather couch, white cheeks flushed pink in the heat. Ingrid cracks an eye open and groans.

“Leave it to you to use this as an excuse to prance around the apartment half-nude. And in _those_ boxers of all things.”

“First of all, it’s hot as balls, cut me some slack. Secondly, these are my lucky pair, and we could use some of Lady Luck’s charm right about now.” 

“I don’t think the type of luck those tacky little hearts on the fabric earn you will help us out in any way.” Ingrid sits up with a huff and Sylvain wrinkles his nose at the sweat streaks she leaves in her wake sparkling in the afternoon sun.

“Well, it is hot,” Dimitri chimes, diplomatic as ever. “We can’t really blame Sylvain for trying to feel comfortable. Although, I’m sure shorts would have sufficed…”

“Neither you nor Ingrid gets to talk,” Felix croaks from somewhere in the darkness of the kitchen. It sounds like he’s shouting from the floor, probably spread out like a drenched starfish on the cool linoleum. Smart move, Sylvain thinks. Beats the carpet. “This is all your fault in the first place.”

“Oh, please enlighten me on how the storm last night was our fault,” Ingrid says while readjusting her braid so it hangs off the back of the couch, allowing her neck a chance to breathe.

“That grilled cheese abomination you guys decided to make at four in the fucking morning was an affront to the goddess, and she sent the storm as punishment.” Sylvain snorts at his logic. If there was anyone else in their shared apartment who couldn’t give less of a shit about the divine as Sylvain did, it was Felix.

Although, when Sylvain reminisces on the events of last night, everything lines up with Felix’s accusation. Or it could be the heavy humidity weighing down Sylvain’s logic and steaming out the wrinkles in his brain. 

Their Saturday night was business as usual for the most part; Sylvain and Felix a few beers in, hunched over the coffee table with deft fingers flying across the buttons on their controllers as Felix finished off Sylvain in a devastating combo during a round of Mortal Kombat. Ingrid and Dimitri were in the kitchen, crafting whatever it was that constituted as a midnight snack at four in the morning. The unmistakable scent of too much butter and definitely too much cheese curled thick and heavy in the air, tickling Sylvain’s skin and taunting his pores to let the grease in. 

“What the hell are you guys making?’ Felix asked with an offended scowl. 

“A light snack,” Ingrid said, all matter-of-fact and unwavering with Dimitri nodding along like an eager middle schooler. 

“It smells like a heart attack.”

“Well aren’t you glad you don’t have to eat it, then.”

“Although, you’re more than welcome to try some.” Sylvain had to hand it to Dimitri and all his misguided attempts at quelling the useless, typical nonsense between Ingrid and Felix, even over something as inconsequential as a midnight snack.

“Fuck no.” Felix finished off his beer and nudged Sylvain’s knee with his own, looking to pick another fight on another playing field. Sylvain sighed before selecting Cassie Cage on the character select screen. 

A few minutes later, Ingrid and Dimitri sat criss-crossed on the floor with a plate of what Sylvain would describe as a dairy apocalypse. 

Sandwiched in between two greasy slices of bread was more cheese than Sylvain even knew they had in the fridge, an amalgamation of cheddar, pepperjack, and what looked like two wheels of Babybel Gautier cheese. And normally, Sylvain could hang with that. Everyone is allowed to experiment with a midnight snack, they’re supposed to be a little weird, right? However, the melted cheese trifecta doubled as a lactose indulgence and as a glue to hold together a hearty helping of Kraft mac and cheese and several mozzarella sticks. 

“Hey guys, I’m all for pushing past the culinary frontier, but uh...what is that?” Sylvain chewed the inside of his cheek to keep himself from laughing at the confusion sprawling on Dimitri’s face.

“It’s a grilled cheese?” He answered as if Sylvain inquired about something so obvious, like why plants need to be watered regularly or why fountain drinks always tasted better than their bottled counterparts. 

“That’s not a grilled cheese,” Felix began, “that’s a nasty atrocity.”

“Shut up,” Ingrid said through a mouthful of cheese. Sylvain swore he saw the pale planes of Felix’s face fade into a light shade of green. 

“Don’t eat that shit here!” Felix jumped off the couch and flailed his hand toward the kitchen. “Eat over there, it’s making me sick.”

“Don’t be so dramatic. Dimitri and I can eat wherever we want, we pay rent here too.” Dimitri shrunk in on himself, looking up at Sylvain with those hopeless baby blues, desperation hanging onto the edges.

“Alright, alright. I have an ide—” But before Sylvain could mend the tension, a clap of thunder briefly illuminated the living room in a flash of white and shook the apartment, followed by a resounding _boom_ that enveloped the entire space in darkness. 

“Shit.” Felix smashed his fingers onto all the buttons of his controller and the TV remote to no avail. Dimitri hurried over to the window and a deep sigh fogged the glass.

“It would appear the whole neighborhood is out, the emergency lights on the lamp posts aren’t even on.” Sylvain strode over beside him, observing the other residents sharing baffled expressions under the harsh sting of rain. 

“Well, this sucks.” Sylvain could already feel his skin crawl under the threat of no air conditioning. Dimitri took his place next to Ingrid again, and they quietly finished their grilled cheese. 

“Always so dramatic,” Ingrid grumbles. “Why don’t you do something useful, like clean out the fridge? It’s been hours, some of the stuff in there probably went bad already.”

“I don’t see why I should be the one to do anything when this is your fault.”

Ingrid launches from the couch and barrels towards the kitchen, leaving an Ingrid-shaped sweat print on the leather.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” She yells, and soon it’s Fraldarius versus Galatea in a pointless battle of horrible wits. Their shouting coupled with the rising, blanketing heat hanging over them muddles Sylvain’s head and he can feel the sharp beginnings of a migraine threaten to take over. He distantly remembers the dishes Ingrid and Dimitri left in the sink and is now acutely aware of the new carpet fuzzies nestled in between his toes.

And it’s so hot. Too fucking hot. 

Before Sylvain can even think about storming over and grabbing two of his dearest, most irritating friends by their collars, he catches Dimitri’s desperate gaze and let’s out the breath he didn’t know he was holding. He shoots him a smile, one of his dimpled ones, and watching the apprehension slowly ease out of Dimitri’s shoulders brings him a cooling sense of calm.

“Okay! How about nobody cleans the fridge and we all play a game to pass the time instead?” Sylvain claps his hands hard enough to grab Ingrid and Felix’s attention. “It’s hot, we’re all miserable, which means it’s as good a time as ever to break out Monopoly.”

Felix groans while Ingrid pinches the bridge of her nose. 

“I already kinda want to strangle you guys,” she says, “and I’d rather not nail the metaphorical and maybe even physical nail on the coffin of our friendship over possession of the Electrical Company card.”

“Perhaps Clue?” Dimitri offers.

Sylvain watches a trickle of sweat hang on the edge of Felix’s chin and fall with a quiet drip onto the Clue board. It lands in the kitchen. Sylvain tries not to grip his cards too tightly, the flimsy cardboard already drooping thanks to the salty condensation sliding off his hands. He moves to adjust his legs, but it takes more effort than it’s worth as his skin adheres itself to the leather and is finally removed with an uncomfortable squelching noise. Suddenly, deciding on a leather couch for the sole purpose of being easier to clean seems like the stupidest decision they’ve ever made, along with the carpet. 

Felix makes a couple notes after they all reveal a few cards to him and grunts towards Dimitri, who looks positively delighted now that it’s his turn.

“I think I’ve figured it out,” he announces with all the enthusiasm of a golden retriever. 

“Let’s hear it,” Ingrid encourages with a smile much to Sylvain’s relief.

“I believe it was Miss Scarlet in the library with the candlestick.” Sylvain watches with mild pity as Dimitri eagerly opens the envelope and giggles in defeat.

“I was so close,” he says before gently placing the envelope back on the board.

“You were, but it’s Miss Scarlet in the library with the revolver.” Sylvain doesn’t even reach for the envelope and Dimitri nods with a smile. Ingrid rolls her eyes.

“What’s the point of even playing if you win every round?”

“Bonding over a charming and beloved murder mystery game to distract from the hot stickiness of our reality?” Sylvain tries.

“Actually, Sylvain is wrong, too,” Felix interrupts, throwing his cards on the table and crossing his arms. “It was Ingrid and Dimitri in the kitchen with the grilled cheese.”

“ _You’re kidding me._ ” And Ingrid and Felix are bickering again and Sylvain digs his hands into his hair, which he realizes has grown past the point of shaggy and is dangerously approaching tragic mullet territory like Dimitri. He hates how it feels, curling wet and sticky on the nape of his neck.

Sylvain has Ingrid to thank for the abrupt halt of their argument. Although, he wishes she’d done so with just a tiny bit more tact.

“Ugh, why did we even move all the way to Adrestria for college in the first place?” She wonders outloud.

The silence that follows feels thicker than the summer heat rolling over them in waves. Sylvain assumes their minds are all spiraling the events that led them here in the first place in a mocking whirlpool. Something about the death of some parents, the death of a beloved brother, the death of a shitty one, and the overbearing severity of misguided fathers (one of those fathers arguably more severe than the other) didn’t sit well with them. Their decision to leave the clown fiesta behind was a hushed one; they packed their clown car to the brim and drove off under the watchful eye of the moon, leaving the unfair expectations that weighed heavier than the heat, heavier than the silence, in the dust. 

“I’m not answering that,” Felix says.

“Yeah.” Ingrid offers an apologetic half-smile. Felix just shrugs.

An hour of sitting around passes, and they’ve all relinquished their shirts, but Sylvain is still the only one in his boxers despite his attempts at arm-twisting. 

He puts down the book he stopped reading twenty minutes ago and takes a look around. Felix is fiddling with the strands of midnight sticking to his cheeks, trying and failing to gather it all in a neat bun. Ingrid lets out a sigh and swings her braid over the couch again, and Dimitri looks just this side of conflicted while he twirls his finger around his mullet.

And then Sylvain believes he’s been blessed with a heat haze-induced stroke of brilliance. 

“What if we all got haircuts right now?”

“What?” Felix says as his hair tie snaps. He curses under his breath. 

“I’m serious! I know I could use one, and think of how much better we’d feel in the heat. It’s also just something to do.”

Ingrid grabs her braid and holds it in front of her, scrutinizing every golden split end. “Well, it is hot.”

Felix gives up on his hair entirely. “Yeah, and we can finally cut off Dimtri’s fucking mullet.”

“Hey,” Dimitri protests. “It’s not that bad!”

“It is,” they all agree in unison.

“Dedue says he likes it,” he murmurs. 

“Hate to break it to you pal, but he’s just too nice to tell you otherwise.” Sylvain clasps Dimitri’s shoulder, who simply nods. 

“I’ll go grab some scissors.” Felix marches into the kitchen and it sounds like he’s tearing through every drawer with the force of a thousand hurricanes.

“Why are these the only ones we have?” Felix holds up a laughably small pair of scissors with a blue and yellow handle and rounded edges, clearly meant to be used by a child.

“I didn’t think we’d be using scissors that often.”

“Oh Dimitri,” Sylvain laughs. 

“Wait, I know what’ll work.” Ingrid flits into Felix’s room and emerges a few minutes later with several small swords and daggers. Felix is on her immediately.

“Hey! You can’t just grab those. They’re real!” He reaches for them, but Ingrid just sticks out her foot to keep him at bay.

“It’ll be fine, and besides, we don’t have very many options.” 

Felix taps his foot on the carpet for a moment before acquiescing, “Fine.”

“Perfect.” Ingrid takes one of the short swords and shoves the rest into Felix’s arms. “I’m gonna do this in the bathroom.”

“I’ll just do it out here.” Felix grabs the decorative mirror off the wall and thrusts it at Dimitri. “Hold this for me.”

“Happy to help,” Dimitri smiles.

Felix regards his reflection for just a moment and soon he’s hacking away at his hair with a surprising amount of precision. Sylvain guesses it’s a result of having been obsessed with blades since he could talk.

He wanders over to the bathroom and finds Ingrid with her braid in one hand and the short sword in the other, angled and ready. From the stiffness of her stance, Sylvain can tell she’s been standing like that for a few minutes.

“Cold feet?”

Ingrid turns to him and hums in acknowledgement. “It’s just...I’ve never cut my hair like this before.”

“You don’t have to.”

Ingrid hums again and faces her reflection. Sylvain looks at her through the glass and focuses on the uncertainty refracting off the jade edges of her stare.

“You wanna know something, Ingrid?”

“What?”

Sylvain grins. “I think your dad would kinda hate it.” And the swift slice of the blade cutting through the goldenrod threads is instantaneous. 

Ingrid lets out an exasperated little gasp and Sylvain is all smiles. 

“I did it.”

“You did.”

Ingrid lets go of the detached braid and allows it to fall into the sink. It barely fits. Sylvain reaches for it out of impulse and picks it up briefly before setting it back down. 

“Heavy.”

“Yeah,” she answers. 

Ingrid’s gaze settles on the braid for another minute before she shakes her head, the lemon strands of what remains swinging just below her ears, healthy and tenacious. 

“I’m gonna clean up some uneven strands,” she says while lifting the blade up to her face.

“Alright.” Sylvain exits the bathroom to give her some space. 

When he steps back into the living room, Felix confronts him immediately.

“Dimitri says it looks good, but I want your opinion.” Felix doesn’t make eye contact, rarely makes eye contact, and instead stares at the space just above Sylvain’s shoulder, that marmalade glare softened into doubt. 

Sylvain’s eyes glide over the long swoop of inky bangs settled on his forehead like a thick flick of a painter’s brush stroke. He must have found another hair tie because his shorter hair is now held up in a small ponytail hanging over the nape of his neck in dark, wispy strands. 

“You look really good.”

Felix almost flinches before he says, “You don’t think I look like—”

“I think you look like you,” Sylvain interrupts. Felix gives him a small smile as his cheeks bloom into champagne pink. Sylvain blames that along with the stutter in his chest on the heat.

“Good.”

“Hey,” Ingrid half-shouts when she walks out of the bathroom. “What do we think?” Her hair now frames her face in a clean even bob, which does wonders to the angles of her jaw.

Sylvain whistles while Dimitri and Felix perform a synchronized double-take. 

“You look great, Ingrid.” Dimitri is absolutely beaming. 

“Yeah,” Felix shuffles over to the coffee table to grab his dagger. 

“Thank you. Whose turn is it?”

“Dimitri,” Felix declares. “Sit down. I’m cutting that shit off.”

“But—”

“Dima, I would just sit down. You can always grow it back.” Sylvain offers him a dimpled smile.

“Alright, I suppose you’re right.” Dimitri plops on the carpet, and it takes Felix exactly half a second to grip his mullet and hack it off, flinging the handful onto the ground like it’ll transmit a plague. 

Dimitri picks up the mirror and runs a hand through the golden tresses. He bite his bottom lip and then huffs out a laugh.

“Here,” Ingrid says before gathering some of his hair and clipping half of it up with a hairpin. Dimtri outright grins at his reflection, those baby blues swimming with delight. 

“Lookin’ good, Dima.”

“I...yes, I think so, too. Thank you.” 

“There’s still someone left,” Felix mentions before shoving Sylvain on the ground. 

“I can just do it myself. You guys might ruin my devilishly good looks.”

“Shut up,” Ingrid says before taking up the short sword. “We have to take care of you before another mullet makes it into the apartment.” Dimitri mutters something under his breath before picking up the kiddie scissors. Felix readies his dagger.

“Wait! You guys can’t all work on my hair. It’s gonna look like shit, and that’s not even mentioning the actual real threat to my life.”

“Stop being a baby,” Felix teases. Sylvain chews the inside of his cheek and gives up, throwing his hands in the air, queuing his friends to start slicing away. 

There’s a lot of grumbling between the three of them, but Sylvain closes his eyes and tunes them out, shivering as half-curls tumble down the length of his spine. Only ten minutes go by before Felix tells him to open his eyes, and when he does, his eyebrows skyrocket. 

Dimitri is holding the mirror in front of him. His hair still has some length, but only enough to hang over his face in flattering, vermillion waves. A few curls stick out in several places, but there’s an alluring charm to them, and Sylvain can’t help but playfully twine his fingers around them.

“So?” Felix asks.

“I love it,” he answers, honesty splintering through the cedar of his eyes.

“It certainly suits you,” Dimitri says. 

“I’m glad we all like our new looks, but we should clean up all this hair before we hate ourselves later.” Ingrid pads over to the hallway closet and pulls out a broom. “This will have to do since we can’t vacuum.”

Felix scowls and Dimitri just nods and grabs the broom. Sylvain stares at them bickering over who is sweeping what first and suppresses a laugh. He stands to join the banter and they all freeze as the television flickers back to life and the unmistakable groan of the air conditioner signals the incoming gust of cool, artificial air that billows along their skin. Sylvain can’t help himself and pulls them all into a sweaty, sticky embrace that none of them wriggle out of, not even Felix. Sylvain doesn’t notice the fuzzies falling off his foot and into the pile of carmine curls on the carpet.

**Author's Note:**

> I really hate carpeted floors and leather couches. 
> 
> Fun fact: the grilled cheese abomination is something I witnessed with my own eyeballs. I didn't try it. 
> 
> Tysm for reading.
> 
> I'm on [twitter](https://twitter.com/jenstarlol).


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